


Sweet Fire

by Morninglight (orphan_account)



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Gentle Sex, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 00:05:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7197038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Morninglight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war was over and the Minutemen had taken down both the Institute and the Brotherhood. Preston Garvey and Sparrow Killian find something in which they can build a future on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Trigger warnings for mentions of death, violence, grief/mourning and fantastic racism. Sparrow/Preston because the Minutemen need love too!

The Minutemen celebrated Commonwealth-style: loads of fiddle music, razorgrain whiskey and dancing. They’d defied the Institute, they’d defied the Brotherhood of Steel and now they were stronger than ever.

            Preston Garvey looked over at the neat row of graves with their concrete markers. The Minutemen’s victory hadn’t come without cost. Ten men and women weren’t going home to their settlements, chief amongst them General Ronnie Shaw. He might have kept the memory of the militia alive after the Quincy massacre but it was the old warhorse who built them into the force that toppled the two biggest threats to the Commonwealth’s autonomy. She’d brought the artillery and held them together during three battles that defined the region’s future.

            He studied the blue-black jacket with its three stars on the ledge before him. Now it appeared everyone wanted him to be General in her footsteps.

            The soft scuff of leather against stone warned him that he wasn’t alone. Judging by the arrhythmic footsteps it was the other reason for the Minutemen’s resurgence.

            “General.” Sparrow’s voice was soft and sweet on the night breeze.

            “Here,” Preston sighed.

            She entered into the circle of red-gold light cast by his lantern, rosy-skinned and chestnut-haired, doe-brown eyes haunted. The iconic Vault 111 suit was gone, replaced by a simple pink cotton dress, and he knew she’d buried her own griefs in the rubble of the Institute.

            Now he supposed she was just the Minutemen’s quartermaster – an ordinary title for the woman who’d created trade routes across the Commonwealth and acquired the information they needed to blow the Institute and Brotherhood sky-high.

            “I can’t be General,” she said softly. “I don’t have the tactical or combat capability.”

            Preston sighed, shoulders drooping. “I know. I just…”

            “Will be a good General,” Sparrow finished. “Sturges and I will help the best we can.”

            “I know.” Preston glanced in her direction. “You’re staying on?”

            “I might as well,” she replied. “My old life is dead.”

            In his own grieving and fear of the burden awaiting him as General, Preston had never stopped to consider that with the destruction of the Institute, Sparrow had lost the son she’d trekked across a hostile landscape to find.

            “How are you coping?” he asked, flushing with shame.

            “Coping,” was Sparrow’s answer. “The Institute needed to go and so did the Brotherhood, but…”

            “Taking that many lives is never that easy.”

            “Precisely.”

            Impulsively, Preston wrapped a rangy arm around the slender Vault Dweller and pulled her into an embrace. Within moments, she was crying into his shoulder and he rested his chin on her hair, letting the tears flow down his own cheeks.

            So many dead because of humanity’s pride and vanity.

            Eventually, the tears ceased and she was looking up at him, doe-eyed and wet-cheeked. “Thank you, Preston.”

            The Minuteman rested his forehead against hers. “You’re welcome. Thanks for reminding me I wasn’t the only person who’d lost others.”

            They stood there for a little while as the fiddles continued in the courtyard down below. Then Sparrow shifted slightly and Preston was reminded of the fact he held a very attractive woman in his arms.

            He slid his hands down her back to the waist, bringing her closer while still giving her plenty of room to pull out of the embrace. Preston never pushed a woman, never demanded more than one would give.

            She initiated the first kiss, brushing scarred lips across his own shyly, and Preston’s hands tightened on her rounded hips. Judging by the feel of the cotton under his hands, she wasn’t wearing panties and he knew that half the time, she went without a bra because someone usually beat her to the scavenged ones in the general stores. How often had he stared at her in that blue suit, knowing the outline of her body intimately as she walked across the Commonwealth?

            “Preston,” she breathed and in his name, he heard something he didn’t quite dare believe.

            This time it was he who claimed her mouth, nibbling on the bottom lip until she opened it, giving his tongue access. Judging by the taste of her, she’d hit the whiskey and the lingering flavour unravelled a little more of his control.

            Sparrow unwound his scarf and let it fall to the ground, her hands deftly grabbing the lapels of his duster. After pausing for a breath, Preston deepened the kiss and then picked her up. He wasn’t going to fuck her on the walls of the Citadel, no matter how sweet the fire running through his veins.

            It was a short walk to the General’s quarters. Now they were his. The two mattresses on the double wooden frame were covered with faded patchwork quilts. Ronnie needed the warmth because of her old bones. Her body had been wrapped in her favourite one.

            Preston set Sparrow on her feet again, looking into those deep brown eyes. “You want this?” he asked softly.

            “Yes.” She rose to her tiptoes and kissed him.

            The sweet fire in his veins surged forth and Preston crushed her to him, feeling the pebbled nipples behind the thin cotton dress, hearing the groan that came from his lips like it was from a distant land. Fiddles played in the background, the sound of Radio Freedom’s music now even the radio operator was having a drink. Tomorrow would bring new challenges but tonight-

            Tonight would be for him. Be for her. And the future they might make together.

…

Sparrow was used to men who’d bend her over the nearest object and fuck her raw once she made it clear she was interested. Men like the Brotherhood soldiers who’d track her movements with their eyes every time she walked past the Cambridge Police Station. They never knew she was a Minuteman, even after one of the ghoul militia members got shot by a Paladin, the action that triggered a war.

            Preston was… gentle. His lips ghosted across her flesh as his hands caressed her breasts through the cotton, touching her like she was made of glass. She could feel his erection against her stomach but the new General was intent on learning every inch of her, just like he did the territory he patrolled.

            She whined when his fingers slipped under her skirt to trace her inner thigh. Slow, patient and methodical. This was gonna kill her.

            A fingertip slid across her slit, drawing a pleading gasp from her. “Preston, please!”

            “You got somewhere else to be?” he asked, full lips curving beneath that pinned-up hat of his.

            There was a devilish spark in those amber eyes as his fingertip slid back and forth, working its way into her drenched folds, cotton skirt rucked up over his forearm. Sparrow whined and rocked herself against that teasing finger.

            When it finally slipped into her cunt, thick and hard, his thumb found her clit and rolled it gently. By the time she was ready to orgasm, she was calling him all sorts of names in Irish Gaelic, most of which he already knew. The lines about his eyes deepened in amusement. How the hell could he have such self-control?

            Then a second finger slid into her and she cried out his name.

            Her knees were wobbly and Preston helped her sit on the bed. He removed his duster with the first sign of impatience she’d ever seen from him since they met in Concord. His vest, shirt and boots were next, revealing a rangy, sepia-skinned body wrapped with lean muscle and old faded scars.

            She pulled off her dress, watching his amber eyes flare with desire. How long had he wanted this?

            “Preston-“

            “Ssh, croí milis,” he murmured as he hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of his pants and pulled them down. “I got you, mo stór.”

            _Sweetheart. My darling._ Endearments she hadn’t heard in centuries from the language of her father’s people. Common ones in the Commonwealth. Delivered sweetly from the kindest, gentlest man she’d ever known before or after the bombs fell.

            Sparrow followed the meagre trail of public hair to his cock. It was long and slender, the foreskin beaded with pre-cum, and she licked her lips. How would he react to a blowjob, she wondered.

            When she looked back up at his face, a familiar heat was in those amber eyes. She smiled and spread her legs, sliding her fingers down to part her folds and rub her clit, to see if that could shatter the Minuteman’s control.

            Preston stepped out of his pants, mouth quirking to the side amusedly. “You’re an impatient woman, Sparrow Killian.”

            “I’m used to hard and fast,” she admitted, blushing under his unashamed scrutiny. Preston might be reserved by nature but he was definitely comfortable with sex. Handsome man like that would have to be, she supposed.

            “I don’t scull my whiskey and I don’t rush my woman,” Preston answered softly. “The best things in life should be savoured, mo stór.”

            She’d never looked at it in that manner. Life in pre-War times was always desperate and frantic, even in the circles she’d dwelled in, trying to cram all the experiences they could before everything went to hell.

            Still, she continued to frig herself a little, building up to another orgasm as Preston stepped over to the bed. How had she not realised this was something they both wanted?

            The Minuteman caught her hand and brought it to his lips, licking every trace of her juices from it until she whimpered from need. Most people looked like that when they were enjoying a fine whiskey, not tasting a woman’s slick from her own fingers.

            “I never thought you might care for me,” he admitted softly. “I’d hoped, but…”

            “I didn’t have time to really think about it until tonight.” Sparrow glanced down for a moment. “Everything’s been rather hectic.”

            “I know.” Preston drew her into another embrace, rolling over until he was on top and between her legs, cock nestled against her slit. “You’re a beautiful woman, Sparrow, beautiful in heart as well as body.”

            He was wrong about that. It was Preston who was the beautiful one, she realised. Not her, the wife of a black ops soldier, the woman who’d looked away from-

            He shifted, mouth claiming hers sweetly as his cock thrust home. She moaned against his lips as his hands shifted to her hips, raising them to fit her more closely to his long lean body.

            Now would have been the time when a soldier hammered into her, driving them both to completion urgently. But despite his own surely aching erection, Preston took his time, slow gentle rocks of his hips that made her feel every inch of his flesh against hers, slowly rising towards climax. Savouring the feel of them together.

            By the time she had her first climax, Sparrow felt like she’d slipped into a warm bath, all glowing lassitude and gentle warmth.

            It was somewhere around the third, one that made her womb clench, that Preston gave a few final thrusts and came himself. A soft growl, a hint of teeth on the side of her neck, and he shuddered to a halt.

            They lay together, stuck by sweat and other fluids, on the General’s bed. The fiddles still played and the other Minutemen laughed, though Sparrow suspected she and Preston weren’t the only ones celebrating like this. A few babies would be able to time their conception to the victory celebration.

            She’d never been held like this. With Nate, he’d just rolled over. With the soldier boys in college, it was always a quick fuck and get dressed.

            But Preston kissed her and murmured endearments against her skin, words of love and affection. She’d never known tenderness like this.

            As she reached for him, intent on returning the pleasure, Sparrow decided that she liked it this way with him. That this, with him, could be her future.


End file.
